


Flying High

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drugged Sex, Hilarity Ensues, IronBat - Freeform, M/M, Mild Language, Mile High Club, One Shot, Out of Character, Sex Pollen, Silly, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: A hijacked Boeing, some new, vicious sex pollen, and Def Leppard... or, in other words:This is why Tony does not like to visit Gotham City that often.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hitting me out of nowhere, this (NSFW!) picture found on Tumblr prompted this stupid little fic:  
> http://65.media.tumblr.com/400519ef60f812fb9fb3b0b3827196d6/tumblr_nqnx83YFM01sxsz6po1_250.jpg
> 
> Please forgive me for being too stupid to use HTML to create an actual link instead of the whole url, I am hopeless. Furthermore I beg forgiveness to the original source of the pic that I was unable to find out without getting forwarded to some very naughty sites, as well as the band and their song mentioned in this one. 
> 
> I mean everything in the most inoffensive way! 
> 
> (NB: Much love to Batsocks for spurring me on)

When you hear about Gotham City and Poison Ivy, the first thing that springs to your mind is...

... no, not fiery redhead – people apparently have not met Pepper Potts when Tony Stark misses a deadline (again). No, think sex pollen. Tony nearly has an abdominal aneurysm from laughter when he first learns about the existence of said toxin. Really now, does that not serve Gotham right? City of emotionally stunted and crippled individuals. They can use a little TLC, even of the chemical kind!

Needless to say, his loverboy -pardon, his Gotham billionaire hunk boyfriend- is less amused about his cheekiness. Which, by the way, does not surprise Tony at all. But Bruce and him never needed enhancements during sex anyhow, so, yes, bad pollen. Bad, bad pollen. Naughty, bad pollen.

(Bruce does not speak to him for two days afterwards whenever Tony goes and says it, using his best the-dog-peed-on-the-carpet-voice. Only Tony does not own a dog, and neither does Bruce. They might need to go and amp up their domesticity level some).

Anyhow, Tony decides to let the jibe slip, until one day, he gets a very distraught call on his secured line, the one reserved for grumpy dark knights (okay, no plural) and equally stern butlers (plural here if you count Jarvis in). Bruce has been hit. And if that would not be enough in succeeding to get his heart rate up in an unhealthy way, Tony manages to make out babbled words like 'toxin' and 'airport' and 'Ivy'.

He is in his suit and in Gotham in less than twenty minutes. Mach 6 really is a godsend. With one eye on the GNN channel in the top corner of his HUD, Tony learns that the fight between Ivy and the Batman has already made it into public. When he arrives, secured by the air-filtration system in his armor, most of the gas has already deflagrated.

He finds his spaced out lover hidden in the baggage compartment of a Boeing 747, and, in typical Stark-spontaneous fashion – decides to hijack the damn jet and get them out of Gotham before anybody can make the connection between a doused Batman and an equally doused Bruce Wayne.

There is no one on board after the personnel has fled the scene when Ivy was raging outside, and Tony grabs a couple of nondescript black suitcases up with them into the economy class – he might have his undersuit, but Bruce needs to get those poisoned armor parts off of his body and something to wear until they arrive in Malibu in about four and a half hours.

It takes his suit less than two minutes until it has corrupted the 747 into a smooth, auto-controlled takeoff, until...

“Toony...”

Bruce's drawl is throaty, which is fascinating because even doped up to the tits, his growl is somewhat in character. His gloved fingers reach for the safety hatches of Tony's armor (damn, he has to hand it to Bruce, the guy is *good*) and Tony barely has a chance to grip his hands tight.

“C'mon hon, time to get those tighty blackies off and you into something comfortable.”

Bruce is mellow and clingy and... dare Tony say it... horny as fuck? He grins behind his faceplate – this is a bit like Valentine's Day on 'roids – and, boy, is he going to make most of it during their mile high exclusive time. Trust him to take one for the team. Altruistic through and through.

There are remains of glittery blue and violet dust particles clinging to Bruce's lips, and Tony grabs a bit of his cape to wipe them away. “Man, she got you good, baby bear. I thought you always have an antidote with you?” He slips a careful gauntlet under the safety catch of the cowl, but Bruce shakes his head away with a determined huff and gets to his feet, albeit a bit wobbly.

“Turn on some music first.”

“Babe, this is not... What are you...”

“I'm not strippin without music.”

Tony blinks up at him, owlishly. And blinks again.

Oh.

Oh, _hello._

Tony knows he shouldn't. He knows he really, really shouldn't. But this is like - like a fucking once-in-a-lifetime moment presenting itself to him on a silver platter. Moments later, Def Leppard blasts through the air (yes, it _blasts_ – that happens when you compromise the whole surround sound system of the Boeing into one big boom box).

_'Love is like a bomb, baby, c'mon get it on...'_

And that is when the magic starts to happen - 40,000 feet above the ground: Bruce Wayne sets out to give Tony Stark the first (and best!) private strip show of his entire life. It takes a lot of willpower for Tony to not record this on his StarkPhone, to either use it as blackmail of the sweet, sweet kind, or as fapping fuel whenever the nights are too lonely with his Bat creeping upon rooftops.

Too bad. Good thing he is a genius with a photographic memory. Take what you can get, retinas.

He watches, entranced, how a barbed glove sails through the air, but remembers to duck just in time (because, watch it, buddy, those are not made from satin), until it is followed by a second one. Bruce starts to seductively sway to the music as he raises his hands to his cowl and slips it off with slow, sensuous motions. He licks his lips and runs his hands through his hair, leaving it gloriously disheveled.

_'Razzle 'n' a dazzle 'n' a flash a little light'_

Tony wishes for a bottle of Dom Perignon and a suitcase full of Benjamin Franklins to go with the show, but keeps on ravishing his completely stoned lover with fascinated eyes. Bruce turns around as he takes the cape off, only to swing it over his head in tune to his swinging hips seconds later. At that, Tony actually whoops out loud and fist-pumps his enthusiasm.

Who knew sex pollen could to be *that* entertaining?

_'Sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet'_

Hot damn, Tony thinks to himself when Bruce turns back around, eyes glassy and a very sultry smolder on his lips, and starts making obvious, grinding motions against one of the many seats. He himself is glad to have taken off his own armor by now; otherwise a certain, very precious part of him would have suffered from painful bruising up against the gold-titanium alloy.

_'So c'mon, take a bottle, shake it up, break the bubble, break it up'_

Ground control is going to flip a lid, Tony muses, as he adjusts himself and slides deeper into his seat. The cape lands next to him seconds later, together with the cowl and the first parts of the Kevlar Nomex breastplating. As soon as Bruce is completely bare-chested, Tony puts his pinky fingers together for a loud, appreciative whistle. It earns him an alluring wink-and-smirk combo.

 _That_ never happened either.

_'Pour some sugar on me, c'mon, fire me up. Pour your sugar on me. Oh, I can't get enough, I'm hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet, yeah'_

Damn, Tony has known Bruce for what – ten or more years now (the last three of them spent in sweet, blissful monogamy of the hot and steamy kind) – but never before has he seen him worked that loose. Even if he knows his Bat can move (gay kamasutra's a joke for them by now) – little did Tony know Bruce can.... gyrate his hips like that. Oh, and he can do the splits, too, who... knew.

_'You gotta squeeze a little, squeeze a little, tease a little more...'_

The bottom part of the Batsuit (Tony feels the whole thing is going to need a good, purifying scrub after they have landed) drops down when the marvelous guitar solo of Joe Elliot roars through the jet. And it is then that Tony Stark comes to realize with a sharp inhale of breath how Bruce Wayne has gone commando under his suit.  
  
Hot damn with a capital D (pun intended)!

_'Pour some sugar on me. Get it, come get it, pour some sugar on me yeah, sugar me'_

Leering at the tantalizing firm globes swaying in front of his eyes, Tony is about to become hypnotized (or maybe it is the lack of blood in his brain by now, who knows), when Bruce gracefully spins around on one heel, covering his manhood with the final piece of armor. His eyes are dark and predatory, and they have an instant effect on Tony's nether regions.

“I'm going to fuck the living daylights out of you now.”  
Tony spreads his arms (and legs) with an inviting grin and wiggle of his eyebrows.  
“My tray table is long since in full upright position, sugar.”

And that is how Tony Stark came to tell the tale about a hijacked Gotham commercial jet at LAX, which caused a major police and emergency operation, a blissfully ignorant Bruce Wayne who has the audacity to pull the emergency slide (and use it in his naked state, even), and a more than cranky Pepper Potts who had to pull out all the stops to prevent their 'drunken billionaire shenanigans' from making it front page.

Contrary to popular belief, Tony does not go and send Poison Ivy a gift basket.  
(the temptation is strong, though)  
Instead he goes and looks up her formula... for scientific measures.

**THE END**

 


End file.
